


Plans Gone Awry

by KaireeDahl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Discussion Of Murder, Discussion of Crimes (not graphic), F/M, I suck at commitment so this is a oneshot, More implications than anything, No sex but implied, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaireeDahl/pseuds/KaireeDahl
Summary: “Oh.  So you are the serial killer we’ve been hunting.”  He wasn’t feeling all that worried about the fact that an admitted serial killer was caressing his cheek while he was tied to a chair and drugged.  He felt compelled to ask, though, “Are you going to kill me?”***Will is captured by our serial killer of the week, but all's not exactly what it seems.
Relationships: Will Graham/Buffy Summers
Kudos: 15





	Plans Gone Awry

He opened his eyes, crusty and dry as hi mouth from whatever drugs he’d been given, to not a basement or an abandoned something or other, as he was expecting, by to a nicely furnished and clean apartment.

He was also tied to a chair.

Being kidnapped, this wasn’t unexpected. Most kidnappers didn’t want struggling from their prisoners, but it did put something of a knot in the prospects of his escape.

Also the table in front of him was a bit confusing.

It was a nice table, he mused. As far as tables went anyway. The grain was nice, it looked shiny and clean, and it’s varnish matched well with the rest of the room. A glance at the other chairs at the table, also nicely varnished, led him to assume the one he was seated on was equally pleasing. He shifted slightly. And cushioned. It was a good chair to be tied to.

He might have still been feeling the drugs.

No one was in the room, one of those dining/living rooms common in apartments. Not quite large enough to be considered open concept or anything, but comfortable. He briefly contemplated finding a table and chairs like this for his own home. They were a different style of course, but his house didn’t really follow any sort of furnishing logic and he _really_ liked this table.

Okay, _definitely_ still feeling the drugs.

He tried to get his brain back on track. He was trying to escape, from what was, in all likelihood, the serial killer they’d been hunting. It was probably Freddie Lounds’ fault. He hated that woman with a burning, headache inducing passion.

It was then that he realized that the headache that had been plaguing him for weeks, maybe even months, was gone.

Damn, these drugs were good.

He was interrupted from any further thought by sound of movement behind him.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” The voice was pleasant, high, and perky. An almost valley girl accent that would normally have him cringing, but the drugs were very good.

“Yes. I think I am awake.” He confirmed, nodding his head unsteadily.

There was a pause in the movement and then soft, gentle hands were on his cheeks directing his head to a face. Her face. She was pretty. And young. And… laughing?

“Yeah, I might have given you a little too much, huh?” She asked him rhetorically, patting him comfortingly on the cheek. He leaned into it slightly, her smile turning a little more genuine. “Dawny told me what it might do to you with you being sick and all, but I was a little out of options.”

“Sick?” He questioned absently, leaning as far into her cool hands as he could, tied to the chair. She frowned slightly, but didn’t remove her hands.

“Yeah. Dawny said it was encephi-something. I’m not great with long words.” She confided. “You didn’t know?”

“Thought I was just going crazy.” He admitted. “Seeing things, losing time, sleepwalking.”

She nodded, commiserating.

“Yeah. That doesn’t sound fun, but Dawny knows her business, and she said she fixed you right up, so it shouldn’t really be a problem anymore.” She patted him on the cheek again. “Not why I kidnapped you, but I’m glad to help.”

“Why did you kidnap me?” he felt obligated to ask, even if he didn’t really care at this point.

“I was reading TattleCrime – trust me, I know,” she mirrored his expression of disgust, “most of her stuff is garbage, but there are a few kernels of truth. Like truth popcorn! With a few of the little unpopped – nevermind. Anyway, I was reading and I saw what you said about the crime scenes, and I felt bad for accidentally messing up the evidence and what not, and confusing you. About my motives and whatever.” She clarified.

“Oh. So you _are_ the serial killer we’ve been hunting.” He wasn’t feeling all that worried about the fact that an admitted serial killer was caressing his cheek while he was tied to a chair and drugged. He felt compelled to ask, though, “Are you going to kill me?”

“No.” She replied confidently, shaking her head. The hand that his cheek wasn’t resting on went up to hair. After a few seconds he could feel the amazing sensations of her fingers running through his hair and massaging his scalp in turns. “I had originally planned to drug you, and then leave you at a new crime scene with the evidence of what they’d done.” She confided, lightly scratching another pleasing path across his head. “But then you had that reaction to the drugs and I had to know I wasn’t killing you by accident, so I called Dawny. And _then_ she told me you were sick, so I had to give you more, different drugs. But first I had to wait for the other ones to leave you body before giving new ones, or you might die, and _then_ wait for the drugs to make you better.” She squinted slightly. “My plan may have gotten majorly derailed.”

“What evidence were you going to leave?” He asked, feeling not unlike a cat under her skillful hands.

“Oh, the girls they were abusing.” She replied easily, though he could see that dark, unleashed beast he’d seen at the crime scenes hiding behind her baby blues.

“Markus Grasset?”

“He liked them young, and he didn’t discriminate genders.” She told him, disgust clear but fingers still delicate and steady. “When he got Lynne into his care, he just couldn’t help himself. She committed suicide when she found out she was pregnant.”

“That would explain why you cut off his penis and shoved in his mouth. Benjamin Fletcher?”

“Mm. He was a violent bastard. Beat his first wife nearly to death, and when she finally left him, he turned his rage onto his students and then his second wife. She died under mysterious circumstance about a year later, and he decided to focus all his anger on the three girl he was charged with. They were all younger than 12. No one realized something was wrong until one of the girls started seizing. The others started screaming and a neighbor came to investigate. But he got away before the police arrived.”

“So you beat him to death.”

“Fair play. Don’t do to others what you can’t handle yourself.” She replied, a vicious smile gracing her cheeks. She looked predatory, like a lioness or a mother bear protecting her young from outside forces.

That smile, however, was affecting him in ways he hadn’t really known about himself. Or maybe it was just the very attractive woman wearing it? Either way.

“I’m assuming the other men did similarly horrible things to young girls?”

“Yup.” She nodded her head, a pleased little smile chasing away the vicious one.

His desire didn’t diminish, but it did shift slightly. So, he was attracted to both. Good to know.

“They’re not going to catch you, are they.” It wasn’t a question, but she still answered.

“Nope. I’ll be out of here before they even know where to look. My list is done here, anyway.”

“Will you leave that evidence, for Jack? He’ll probably be less invested in finding you if he has evidence this was a form of justice.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Also, I think you’re very attractive and I’d like to kiss you.” He hadn’t planned for those words come out but he couldn’t deny the surprised pleasure that crossed her face didn’t send a thrill through him.

She leaned forward slowly, one hand gently cupping his cheek, the other still scraping lightly across his scalp. For a long moment, she just breathed against his lips, tantalizingly close, but just out of reach.

Then she destroyed the tiny distance and he was consumed.

They were both panting and pressing lips, scraping teeth and exploring tongues, tangling as much as they could without his arms in use. And all he kept thinking was _more._

She seemed to agree because when she paused, pupils blown and pulse racing, she had to visibly hold herself back from devouring him right then. She returned her lips to his, gently this time, nothing more then a press of lips to lips.

“While I’d love to work this out right here, right now,” she breathed against him, “I think we should wait until all those fun drugs are out of your system.”

Logic and sense told him she was correct, told him his impairment was something he didn’t want in the way of his memories of whatever this turned into. But logic and sense didn’t prevent the pathetic little whine from escaping.

She smiled closing her eyes, pressing her lips more firmly to his but still not opening them.

“Ask me again in the morning.” She commanded breathlessly. “I hate to be responsible but I think someone here needs to be.”

He went to sleep that evening in the bizarrely comfy chair.

And the next morning, he _asked._

He was once again tied to that chair when they found him. She’d called the police anonymously from the old corded phone on the wall and parted with a pleased and only a little bit guilty kiss.

He knew what he looked like. Hair in disarray (at least, more disarray than usual), with fresh hand shaped bruises on his throat, wrists, and arms, and with a series of seemingly random cuts bleeding sluggishly down his chest.

He’d been left in nothing but his jeans, his hands now tied behind the chair, ankles tied to its feet. He hadn’t showered, but they’d spent enough time that morning cleaning up with towels that he knew he now just smelled like blood and sweat.

She’d painted her picture so very well.

They came in with guns drawn, searching for danger, and he almost didn’t realize they were there as he’d been taking a nap.

“Will!” Beverly was the first one to approach him, a sympathetic look in her eyes as the others spread throughout the apartment looking for any sign of her. “Will, are you alright?”

“Tired.” He admitted, his voice a little rough from the early morning asphyxiation. “Hungry. My chest hurts.”

“I can see why.” She replied, glancing down at his chest.

“Do you know where she went?” Jack cut in with a sharp command. “Did she give you any information about where she might’ve been heading?” He ignored Beverly’s reprimanding little ‘Jack!’ in favor of staring at Will bound form harshly.

He shook his head. “She’s the one that called you, you know.” He said instead. As he expected, Jack’s face twisted up in a grimace while Bev’s eyebrows shot up.

“I’d had that thought, yes.” The BSU’s leader reluctantly admitted.

“She left some evidence on the table for you.”

The table was not the one he’d been admiring the previous night, but the coffee table. It was covered with a spread of professional looking dossiers about each of her victims and their crimes. Nasty stuff, thankfully not the crimes he typically had to deal with.

Jack went over to the table, glancing at the spread of information with increasing discontent. Bev took the chance to wave the EMT’s in, likely hoping that Jack was distracted enough not to yell at her.

He didn’t and Will was ushered off to the hospital in an ambulance, but not for any of the ‘injuries’ he sustained. Instead, they were worried when he’d told them she’d given him some drugs when she’d taken him, but he’d only woken up the previous night.

That’s when they told him he’d been gone for two weeks.

He couldn’t help feeling incredibly flattered, though he did his level best not to show it. She’d put up with unconscious, sick Will for two weeks. Then he remember what she’d said about the encephi-something.

“Encephalitis.” The doctors confirmed at the hospital. “You had a surprisingly advanced case. But you seem to have gotten all the right antibiotics and are well on your way through recovery.”

Will thanked them and they discharged him on his own recognizance.

And for the first time in a long while he felt like his thoughts were his own.

**Author's Note:**

> I am a virginly virgin who reads a lot of porn. I have never written a sex scene and I doubt I'll start now, so the sexy times are implied.  
> That said, if someone wanted to write the smutty part... *wink wink nudge nudge*


End file.
